


A Series Of Rebuttals, or The Herald Responds to the Inner Circle's Testimony on the Problem of Mages

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Mages and Templars, The Circle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-20 04:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: Being the Inquisitor and a mage isn't easy. It's even harder when friends and colleagues are less than prudent with their opinions.





	1. Adaar

Josephine mounted the steps of the dais and turned to face the crowd. The great hall of Skyhold was thinly packed with visiting nobles and a scattering of Inquisition mages. The moldering drapes and rotting furniture had been removed, and she was pleased to see it almost had the appearance of an actual court of law.

At the back of the hall, Gereon’s chains jangled around his feet as he let himself be dragged forward by guards. The magister kept his head bowed, and offered no restraint.

Josephine turned from him to the Inquisitor. Adaar sat upon her spiked throne, dressed in bottle green robes with the black and white hair between her horns plaited into a long braid that settled on her shoulder. Her expression was stern but controlled, just as she and Josephine had practiced in front of the mirror. They had spent the morning going over the trial procedures, with Josephine coaching her on the proper wording for her judgment, how to respond to prisoner rebukes, and what to do if the crowd grew restless. Adaar had proven an apt pupil, and had concealed any nervousness she might have had when she took her place in the great hall.

“You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter,” said Josephine. “Fereldan has given him to us as acknowledgement of your aid.”

Adaar's jaw clenched. She had spoken little of her journeys into the dark future Redcliffe, though the incident no doubt weighed on her soul.

“The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination—on your own life, no less. Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former magister as you see fit.”

“The apostasy stands out,” said Adaar.

A light chuckle ran through the assembled nobles.

“Have the charge struck from the record,” continued Adaar over the laughter.

That part was not as they had practiced. The laughter petered out and was replaced with ringing silence.

“Inqusitor?” asked Josephine.

“The charge of apostasy. Remove it.”

“If you are certain—” said Josephine.

“I am,” said Adaar, not sparing her a glance.

A rustle ran through the crowd. Mutters were shared, between the nobles and mages alike.

“Noted,” said Josephine, and struck a line across her slate.

The trial then continued as rehearsed. Gereon was ordered to serve the rebel mages as their research assistant, to be monitored by a magical guard of assigned knight-enchanters. Adaar rose with a rustle of her robes, and crossed the hall to Josephine’s office. Josephine, scribbling on her slate, followed her.

“Well, that went….smoothly,” said Josephine, closing the door behind them. She was already writing letters to Fiona on proper quarters for Gereon and accommodations befitting his birth. She was so busy writing that she almost bumped into Adaar standing in the middle of the room.

“You failed to inform me of the formal charges,” said Adaar.

“I admit, I thought them self-evident,” said Josephine. “In the future, I will be sure to review each other’s scripts more thoroughly.”

Adaar stared at her. Josephine would be lying to say the tall woman was not intimidating. Her clawed hands, one slashed with the green shimmer of the mark, were folded in front of her.

“If I may offer some advice, Your Worship,” said Josephine. “It would be best if we did not present a divided front to the people. The more disorganized we appear, particularly at this early juncture, the less faith we are likely to inspire.”

“Disorganized,” said Adaar. “is that how you would describe what happened up there?

“I do apologize once more. Please, believe me when I say that I did not think it would be an issue. I will endeavor in the future to make sure the matter does not slip my mind again.”

Adaar stared at her. And stared. So long that Josephine felt the need to stare back.

“Are you aware that you speak to an apostate?” asked Adaar. “Or did that matter slip your mind as well?”

Josephine opened her mouth and closed it.

It had slipped her mind.

“I….” She and Adaar had been amiable these past few weeks. They had sipped tea together, walked the gardens, gossiped over Lady de Launcet’s hideous lavender gown. It was easy for forget what she was.

“Our friend Solas is an apostate,” said Adaar. “Dorian and Vivienne, according to the Chantry, are both outside the control of their respective Circles and apostates. The bulk of our army is comprised of rebels and illegal mages. All according to the Chantry.”

Adaar took a step forward. “Are we the Chantry?”

“No, Inquisitor,” said Josephine. She called upon her years of training to remain as impassive as possible.

“What kind of message do we send when we tell the world we are accusing and judging mages on the notion of ‘apostasy’?” asked Adaar.

Josephine pressed her lips into a thin line. 

“We tell them,” said Adaar, “that we support Chantry law. We tell them that we uphold Circle law in the absence of the Circle. We tell them that we are hypocrites of the highest order, and that the world we want to protect is one where people like me are hunted like beasts by fanatics baying Andraste’s mercy.”

Adaar towered over Josephine. Her shadow blocked out the sunlight from the windows.

“Would you like me to tell you of all the times the Chantry sent their Templars to steal little Vashoth boys and girls away from their parents, Ambassador Montilyet?”

“No, Your Worship.”

Adaar’s eyes were cool and green as a cat’s. The same woman who had giggled with Josephine over Cullen's hair was now every inch a scarred mercenary with a discoloration that ran from her chin to top of her brow.

“Apostasy is not a crime in the Inquisition,” said Adaar. “We do not recognize it here, or from any sovereign state in Thedas. In the future, you will not list it as a crime of the accused. Are we clear?”

There were so many rejoinders she could offer to that statement. That the Inquisition would never survive the ire of Orlais and Fereldan if it did not, at least, pretend its mages were loyal to the Chantry. That there were countless Circle mages who themselves would scoff at every word Adaar had just said as the ravings of a savage and a heretic. Instead, she found herself saying, “Yes, Your Worship.”

Adaar nodded, and placed a clawed hand on Josephine’s shoulder.

“Then let us review what we’re going to tell Fiona about her new charge.”

Josephine stood rooted to the floor after Adaar moved away. She shivered from head to toe, and it was a long time before she stopped. 


	2. Trevelyan

It took Cassandra a long time to realize the Herald disliked her.

Amara Trevelyan was a good-natured, apple-cheeked woman, with a sudden, barking laughter could and often did startle flocks of birds from trees. She was round and soft, an obvious maid at forty, who had spent all her life reading books in the tiny Circle of Ostwick, known for its cramped quarters and dull, sedentary life.

She was a friend to all, and could soothe disputes as easily as she might smooth a wrinkle in her robe or pull two scrabbling children off each other by their earlobes. Everyone loved her, welcomed her, and was warmed by her presence. She had a smile for enemies, a tight hug for strangers, and a bosom ready for anyone to cry on.

For anyone except Cassandra.

There were three incidents that sealed it for her. The first was when Trevelyan approached her in the training yard in Haven, watching Cassandra beat a training dummy into submission.

“I was wondering if I could pick your mind,” said Trevelyan in her cheerful, cider-warm voice. “I’ve never met an actual Seeker of Truth before.”

Cassandra sighed and stabbed her training sword point down in the dirt. “What is it you would like to know?”

A great deal, as it turned out. Trevelyan asked everything from the hierarchy of the Seeker’s officers, to their training regiments, to how they responded to Circle complaints from mages and Templars alike.

For a woman who claimed to know very little on the subject, she seemed to know a frightening lot.

The conversation turned, inevitably, as so many things did in those days, to Kirkwall.

“We knew what was happening at Kirkwall, where the mage rebellion began. We looked into reports of Knight-Commander Meredith’s harsh treatment of her charges years earlier. But we found so many shocking cases of magical corruption, it was decided her actions were justified.”

Cassandra shook her head. It was one of her many regrets. She herself had been part of the committee who had reviewed the reports from both the Templars and the mages of the Gallows. She had never visited the Circle herself, but had taken the word of her comrades who had and deemed the conditions to be acceptable in the interest of curbing the rise of abominations and blood mages in the city. Many nights since then she had lain awake, wondering if this war might have been prevented if she had simply believed Orsino and deemed Meredith unfit for her position.

“If we’d been there when it happened, if we’d looked harder at the root causes….” said Cassandra.

“Then you would have recognized your own complicity in the horrors of the Gallows and pushed harder for mage liberties?” said Amara. “Or you would have simply crushed the rebellion and made sure things went back to the way they were?” 

Cassandra blinked. It was the first time the Herald with such authority. "I'm sorry?"

"You just sound like you're angry that the rebellion happened at all. Not that it needed to happen because of your negligence."

"I....The situation was more complicated than that.”

“Was it?” said Amara. “My cousin was transferred from Ostwick to the Circle of Starkhaven. After it burned down, she was captured and brought back with other mages to the Gallows and charged with apostasy. Meredith had her and three others executed at random to make an example.”

Cassandra’s stomach turned to lead. Amara’s voice was as warm as always, a finger curling in her ruddy hair.

“Tell me—if you didn’t slap Meredith’s wrist for that, would you have really ousted her for anything else she did?”

Cassandra found her resolve, and hardened her voice. “I would have.”

“But you didn’t.” Amara shrugged. “Curious thing, that.”

The silence stretched on and on. Cassandra became aware of the clash of steel behind them as soldiers trained with blunted swords.  

“It’s funny,” said Amara. “Most people would be hanged as war criminals, but I suppose that’s one of the perks of being a Seeker. You never have to face justice for the things you did to us.”

Amara stuck her hands on her hips and turned her attention to Iron Bull outside his tent on the other side of the training yard. She gave a long whistle. “Now that one’s going to put someone’s eye out. What do you do with your nips? I use a bit of goose down to keep mine from skewering through my robes.” She clapped her hands together. “Ten silvers says I can make the big man blush.”

Amara walked away, her big hips parting the training soldiers as easily as the prow of a dreadnought through waves.

 

* * *

 

That was the first time. The next day, Amara was her jocular self. She did not bring up Kirkwall again, and neither did Cassandra. In time, Cassandra was lulled back into the warmth and cheer of the Herald’s presence, and like a warm bath, she seeped into it.

It wasn’t until nearly half a year later, while hiking in the Exalted Plains, that she was reminded that there was a snag between them.

“Cassandra,” said Dorian, leaning hard on his staff as they puffed up a hill of rolling prairie grass. “If you were still a Seeker, would you drag me to one of your Circles?”

“I’m not still a Seeker.”

“But you’d do it? Even though I’m incredibly charming?”

“Yes. I would absolutely drag you there. Without question.”  

“No you wouldn’t,” said Amara. The Inquisitor had lost weight, but was still panting at the top of the hill.

“I beg your pardon?” said Cassandra.

“Because if you try to put anyone I love in the Circle ever again,” said Amara. "I'll kill you."

Amara stood there smiling at her. Dorian blinked, then gazed at the Herald with a gratitude that was startling in its openness.

“If you were to challenge me," said Cassandra, in a weak attempt at levity, "I don't believe you would win." 

“I never said we would fight.”

A woodpecker drummed against the trunk of a scrub pine above them. Amara turned and kept walking and they fell in step behind her. After a time, Dorian bumped Amara’s hip with his own, and she hooked an arm around his waist, dragging him down into one of her monstrous bear hugs.

Cassandra ambled along behind them, alone.

 

* * *

 

The final time, Cassandra realized the danger she had been in from the beginning. 

After Caer Oswin, she had called the Inquisitor to the smithy. The Seekers’ History sat on the table between them.

“The Rite of Tranquility is the last resort for mages in the Circle—leaving them unable to cast but depriving them of all dreams and all emotions. It should only be used on those who cannot control their abilities. But that has not always been the case.”

She did not know why she was making excuses. Attempting to justify herself, she supposed.

“Does the book say it was used for other things?” asked Amara.

“No,” said Cassandra. “As a Seeker I looked into….abuses. Mages made Tranquil as punishment.”

Again, that strange, phantom shame. It had crept up on her more and more these past months. As if it had been sleeping inside her all these years, and only now decided to reveal its true depths.

“What finally began the mage rebellion was the discovery that the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up…harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of its discovery, in addition to what happened in Kirkwall….But it appears we have always known how to reverse the Rite from the beginning. We created the Rite of Tranquility.”

Cassandra rambled on about her own initiation into the Seekers. How she was touched by a spirit. The resentment and betrayal of that revelation she chose to leave out.  

“It’s not a cure, not truly. Mages who were once Tranquil lose all control over their emotions. They become irrational, unable to focus. Perhaps that state eventually passes and they can be helped, but it will take time to investigate.”

“But you are going to look into it.”

“That is my intent. I would not want news of a cure to spread until we known for certain we can help these people.” 

Amara was quiet. She reached forward and pulled the tome toward her and flipped idly through the pages.

“Once we have that, however, I will spread the news myself.”

The Inquisitor shut the Seekers' History. She pushed her chair back and stood with the book in hand.

Then she struck Cassandra across the face with it.

Cassandra hit the floor. Her ear flared red hot where it struck a chair leg, and pain lightninged through her jaw. She gasped, stunned, and sat up.

“You will do no such thing,” said the Inquisitor.

“What—why would you—I thought you would want to help the Tranquil!"

“I do,” said Amara. “And that is why you will have no part in this.”

Amara stood there with the tome in her hand. It was the first time Cassandra could remember her not smiling.    

“Your Order did this to us. Your Order, for centuries, hid this from us, and you expect me to trust you with helping the Tranquil? _You_?  You who pardoned the torturers and the butchers for decades because you lacked the imagination to think them anything but honest and justified? You have destroyed lives with your blindness, Seeker Pentaghast, and I would sooner pardon Corypheus than put this cure in your bloody little hands.”

The smithy was utterly silent. Distantly, Cassandra could hear the whinny of a horse, the crunch of gravel and a laugh as two soldiers crossed the yard and entered the tavern. She might as well have been under the torturer's knife for how alone she felt.

“This book will be given to Fiona. Mages will spread the information, and mages will make sure a cure is implemented. That you would wring your hands over helping people who have been mutilated makes me wish I could bang this book over your head until my arms give out, but unfortunately, it’s too valuable to waste on your thick skull.”

Amara came around the table and stood over her. For a moment, Cassandra wondered if she was about to be set on fire, but the Inquisitor merely stood there, magic crackling dimly around her, like a storm cloud on the edge of striking lightning.

“You will not interfere. If you so much as voice a protest, I will find one of your brands of Tranquility, and I will shove it so far up your ass that you have a sun shaped tattoo on the inside of your skull. Are we clear?”

Cassandra’s rage bubbled up. She wanted to lunge up and scream, _it isn’t your place—the dangers—you can’t—_

But the Seekers were gone. This wasn’t the Chantry. She had no authority to enforce.

Instead, she merely bowed her head. “As you wish. The consequences then, be yours.”

“They always are. The consequences you will face, however….” Amara drummed her fingers on the book. “Have yet to be determined.”

Cassandra stared after her dumbly as the fat woman strolled to the staircase. Amara turned back on the top step and gave her a mock salute with the book.

“Thanks, in any case. It’s good to know you can actually find something every now and then."  


End file.
